Page 11 of Speak of the Devil

“When was your last orgasm, Cate?”

I’ve learned to control my reaction when my patients try to shock me, but I’ve barely had time to set my bag on the table. So I fail today and pick my jaw off the retirement home floor. Adjusting the lapel of my white coat, I stretch my neck and try to reason my way back to calm, cool, and collected. “I think you meant to ask me how my day is going. Right, Maggie?”

“Nope.” She pops the p, digging her heels in deeper, and stares at me with her vibrant green eyes, still expecting an answer.

Pulling out a chair for her, I won’t egg her on by smiling, but a straight face is hard to maintain. I love how curious she is about others. She’s kept her mind sharp and her wit intact. I only wish her curiosity didn’t extend into my personal life. I’m not looking to feel bad about my recent lack-of-orgasms streak because one of my eighty-seven-year-old patients is looking for entertainment. I ask, “Were you always such a firecracker?”

“Yes. Was it recently?” She sits in the chair, facing away from me. “Achieved solo or by a partner?”

“Maggie,” I caution with care. Knowing her for two years now, I shouldn’t be so surprised by the intrusive line of questioning, but I still find myself having to restrain the shock from shaping my face. “That’s inappropriate to ask your nurse.”

She waves her hand in front of a scoff. “I gave up on being appropriate after my seventy-fifth birthday. I should have given it up when I was young and had a long life ahead. I missed out on so much choosing to be appropriate instead.” Nodding her head, she adds, “Who cares what others think.”

Her gaze lengthens across the room, landing on Mr. Rigsby. Looking up at me, she smiles. “Marty Freedleman asked me to make out in the back of his parents’ 1955 Chrysler when I was eighteen. It was green with a sporty white stripe that matched the roof. What a car. What a man.” Her tone is dreamy as if she can see him now. “He looked like a movie star standing in front of it.”

I imagine Maggie was quite the catch herself. She still is. After winning Ms. Parkdale last month, she’s been wearing her sash daily. I rest my hand on her shoulder and place my stethoscope to her back. “Did you take him up on his offer?”

“That’s inappropriate to ask your patient,” she says with a devious side-grin that has me raising an eyebrow.

“Is that a yes?”

Her hand covers mine with reassuring pressure, and she glances up at me over her shoulder. “No, I didn’t, but I should have. I could just tell Marty was a great kisser. Have you ever had that feeling about someone?”

It’s been a while . . . Oh wow, I can’t remember the last time. I tick through all the bad dates I’ve had this year, and not one person would fit that description. Should I be sad no one evokesthat emotion? Or glad I didn’t settle for less? “Maybe a long time ago.”

She laughs. “Oh honey, you don’t know what a long time is. Why do you think I asked about your org?—”

“Follow my finger.” I shine a light in her eyes and move it back and forth. When I lower it, I add, “Your lungs have cleared.”

“Uh-huh. I see what you did there, Nurse Cate.” I don’t get much past her. “Want some advice?”

I give her all the time she needs. “Sure, I’d like that.”

“I still love my husband dearly.” Henry passed years ago, but the sadness still hangs on her expression when she mentions him. My heart clenches just as she pats my hand and then shifts; the lightness of her usual personality returns the smile to her face. “But I regret being appropriate before I met him.” Releasing a deep breath, she hums. “And I suppose since he passed.”

If I’d been drinking a margarita, this would have been spew-worthy. “Keep doing what you’re doing. It’s working. Great checkup. The candy is in the bowl by Nurse Sandra.” I stand back up and redirect my attention to my e-pad to make notes, hoping she doesn’t loop this back to orgasms again because, frankly, it’s been too long. I know it, and I suspect she can tell just by looking at me. “You’re good to go. Stay hydrated per my usual recommendation, plenty of rest, and less needling Mrs. Louis.”

Standing abruptly, she glares across the room. She can start a fire with only a look. “Daphne Louis talked to you, didn’t she?”

“I’m not getting in the middle of?—”

“I knew it.” She fists her hands and whips her gaze to me. “She’s such a snitch.”

“I don’t think getting yourself worked up over?—”

“You know what she told me at gardening club on Tuesday?” There’s no stopping her, so I let her vent. And secretly, I love tohear the Parkdale gossip. It’s incredible what riles the residents up. Last week, it was sweet peas. A whole faction will only eat sweet corn, not the peas.

“What did she say?” When she keeps staring, I grow concerned. “Maggie?”

She grabs my arm, and says, “Good gracious, Cate.”

“What is it?”

Running her fingers along the underside of the sash, she perks up—wide eyes and a smile that probably won Henry’s heart. “They didn’t make men like that in my day.”

“What?”

“You think he ever dated a beauty queen?”

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